


Words

by SnowyOtakuKitten



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:01:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26149138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowyOtakuKitten/pseuds/SnowyOtakuKitten
Summary: Words are strange. They exist, on paper and computer screens, they hang in the air between people and bounce around in skulls and ears. They form sentences and meaning, eventually. If I tell you my words, what will you do with them?
Kudos: 1





	Words

**Author's Note:**

> I’m more sure why I posted this here. Maybe I just wanted somebody to see it. I hope somebody somewhere will like it.

Words are strange. They exist, on paper and computer screens, they hang in the air between people and bounce around in skulls and ears. They form sentences and meaning, eventually. Sometimes they never make those fragments of conversation, instead you hear them tossed through the air at sports events and whispered in quiet hallways during conversations that aren’t your business and may never be. Then they are short and meaningless, a split second of a story other than your own, where someone else is the main character. Words jumble together in your head, when you think and observe and try to understand the hows and whys and whens . Sometimes they shift and fit together, and for a split second the dispassionate symbols displayed in your mind make sense. There is meaning and purpose in the speech running through your head. But then they are gone. The words mix again and life moves on. 

The minute you put pencil to paper or fingers to keyboard, the magnificent tower of elucidation crumples and you are left sorting through the ruins of thought that remain until you can piece them together again. More often than not, they will slip through your fingers, and your mind will fill with new words. I think I had words once, in sentences with meaning, that cracked and fell less than a second after they formed. And now I’m still sorting through the wreckage, trying to piece that meaning back together again, so I can look at what I’ve made and think “yes this is right, this is me”. 

The same thing happens with words that float in space and hang in the air. You open your mouth to talk and laugh, to say something, and the words come out tripping over each other and all mixed up. The poetry and prose that has been so carefully written out in your mind falls in on itself when you try to push it out. Sometimes, I think it would be better if I didn’t have to talk at all. But people need to communicate. Need to speak and say when something is wrong or right, plan when to meet and what to do. 

But sometimes the words leave you and when it's your turn to stand up and speak you have nothing to say. Some invisible force has stolen them from you, swept the letters from your mind and left you with nothing but your breath which catches in your chest. Sometimes you sit and listen to others talk and talk and talk and it is never your turn to stand and speak your words to the world, for you are never brave enough to lift your head and shout “I want to talk, it's my turn now”. Sometimes, you will get a turn, and your words, sentences, meaning that you could present are on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t open your mouth. If you choose to speak then everyone would hear you, and what you have to say isn’t important, isn’t as good or well written as what others have to say. Maybe you take carefully composed paragraphs, and shove them away, hide them, because they are delicate, you’re delicate. And you know that the world can be cruel and harsh, but in the end is that really an excuse to bow your head and press your lips together? 

Occasionally words are unnecessary, you don’t need to say anything, but it's hard to tell. It’s always hard to tell. And so the room is filled with bland conversation starters and stumbling sentences, even when you think it might be better to sit in silence. But how do you say that? How do you open your mouth and tell someone “no I don’t really want to talk right now”, because nothing is ever that simple. 

Even with thousands of words at your disposal you still can't find the right ones, that will express to the person next to you this is what you want and what you need, so you smile and say “I’m fine, I had a good day, how are you?”. I think I said something along those lines yesterday, when I felt each breath in my chest was strange and new, and all I wanted in the moment was to pare myself down into wind and hurtle through the clouds on wings of my own design until I couldn’t hear myself think anymore. I have thousands of words muddling my thoughts, trapped behind my lips, I suppose if I wanted to I could have said exactly that. Said that I wanted to fly on wings of tangled dream catchers and starlight, to see if for only a moment I could exist without a care in the world, only air and clouds in sight. If I wanted to, I could say it now, walk out of this room, find someone and talk and talk until my throat is parched and my words run dry. 

If I wanted to I could raise my head and demand that it was my turn to speak. But I don’t. I bite my lip and duck my head and smile when they glance my way and I’m never sure why. Maybe it's because I’m scared. Scared of not living up to expectations or the sentences and meaning that others with spin in response to my own tapestry. One might say that nobody's opinion should matter to you, that your work is wonderful and amazing just like you. But no matter how much you repeat yourself, or how many proverbs you pull out, the things that people say hurt sometimes. If someone laughs at me or spits in my face, will I be strong enough to pick myself back up and laugh in the face of their disdain? 

Maybe it's because I’m selfish, The words that I write, those are mine. I made them, thought those stories into existence and gave them life. Maybe these words are more me than I myself will ever be, because I was shaped by expectations and bias and religion and all those other things that I never got to choose for myself. But these words, the ones that I can piece together into pictures and sentences and stories, I created these words. They have meaning, yes, and bias and there are expectations resting on this page, but they are my expectations and my bias and my meaning. I crafted these paragraphs from thoughts, and spelled them out letter by letter with my own two hands. Tell me, truthfully please, if I hand my words to you what will you do with them, with me? Because no matter how much I want to say that I could laugh if cruelty and arrogance fall from your lips, as words and slights, I truly don’t know if I could.


End file.
